Brushstrokes
by Chibi-Shibi
Summary: The three times they met Alice. And the one time they wish they hadn't.


**A/N: International Wizarding School Championship: writing school**

**Ilvermorny, ****Year 4**

**Words: 781 (Google docs)**

**Prompt: ****The Tale of the Three Brothers** \- [_Character] Death_

* * *

People say that one always remembers their first brush with Death.

Death themself, certainly hoped they did. After all, who wouldn't want to leave a lasting first impression?

Every so often, however, they would meet a few, who would leave a lasting impression in _their_ mind instead. She was one of those special few.

* * *

The first time they saw her, she was little more than a child. A reckless and somewhat foolish child who had been flying a little too fast, and crashed a little too hard.

They hadn't really thought about her then. Millenia of taking away children and even infants had rendered them what humans would call heartless. Nonetheless, they still endeavoured to be as gentle as he could.

'Hello, little one,' they said.

She pouted and looked away from them.

They smiled. They knew what she was seeing; the whole world in shades of grey and white, and then their own looming presence.

'I know who you are,' she said, still not meeting their eyes. It was not fear, but defiance. 'You don't scare me.'

'I see,' they replied. 'Then perhaps I should tell you that I am not here to take you.' He paused. 'Yet.'

She looked at them now, interested.

'You have a choice to make, Alice. You can choose to go back.'

Her eyes lit up in childlike joy. 'I can?'

They nodded. 'But it will be hard. You will be in pain, and you must fight to live. And even then, there may be a small chance-'

She cut them off. 'I'm going back,' she said, with the kind of firmness they rarely saw, even in adults.

They bowed his head in agreement, or perhaps it was acceptance. And that was that.

* * *

The second time, was at the cusp of war.

They didn't think that any of the people who would be fighting in the war were old enough to, but they never agreed to war in the first place. Too many souls, leaving far too quickly and for little gain. They had learnt quickly, however, that their opinion on human matters was neither proper, not wanted.

They didn't recognise her when they first saw her, not among the countless Alices that they had taken since then, but it was that look in her eyes that reminded them.

'Hello, again.' They bowed as he spoke.

She smiled. 'Is that how you always greet your...victims?' Her tone was playful, but they could sense the pain she was feeling in the moment she was stuck in.

'Usually. In whatever language suits them, makes them more comfortable.'

She nodded, not really paying attention to what they were saying. 'Are you here to take me, this time?'

'Not if you don't want me to. Same clauses apply,' they replied, a little sadly.

'Ah, those ones about pain and whatnot?' She gave a small, mirthless laugh. 'Sure.'

And they bowed again, letting her world return to whatever little colour it had left.

Twice now, they had let her go. Well, it hadn't quite been their choice, but usually, they did try to persuade their _victims_ as she had called them, otherwise. This time, however, something stopped them.

* * *

The third time, they'd thought would be the last time.

From the look in her eyes, she did too. She looked tired, defeated. It was unusual, if not impossible. Her fierce will was as much a part of her appearance as anything else.

They were no stranger to the cause of her sorrow, the war, but they were still surprised to find her lying there, tears streaming down her eyes.

'Hello,' they whispered, as another tear rolled down.

'Is he alive?' That is all she asked, looking over to the man beside her. He too looked as broken as her, and they wondered if he would the next one that they would be seeing.

Their voice was ever so slightly shaking when they replied. 'Yes. Just barely.'

'Then I will stay. That is, if I have a choice yet,' came the steady response.

In that moment they realised that they didn't want her to stay. They had seen this woman, hardly more than a girl, far too many times.

'He may not choose the same.'

'I know what he will choose,' she said. She sounded like she was convincing herself. Perhaps she was.

'Please.' They had never begged. Just this once, they did.

She shook her head, and they realised it was futile. So they bowed and hoped her faith in love was not misplaced.

* * *

When they saw her years later, barely a shell of the person she was, they knew that she hadn't been wrong, but that they wished she had.


End file.
